Théâtre Français.--Mademoiselle Mars.--Elmire.--Charlotte
Brown.--Extract from a Sermon.
It was not without some expectation of having "Guilty of rococoism"
recorded against me, that I avowed, very soon after my arrival, the
ardent desire I felt of turning my eyes from all that was new, that I
might once again see Mars perform the part of Elmire in the
"Tartuffe."
I was not quite without fear, too, that I was running some risk of
effacing the delightful recollections of the past, by contemplating
the change which seven years had made. I almost feared to let my
children behold a reality that might destroy their _beau idéal_ of the
only perfect actress still remaining on the stage.
But "Tartuffe" was on the bills: it might not soon appear again; an
early dinner was hastily dispatched, and once more I found myself
before the curtain which I had so often seen rise to Talma, Duchenois,
and Mars.
I perceived with great pleasure on reaching the theatre, that the
Parisians, though fickle in all else, were still faithful in their
adoration of Mademoiselle Mars: for now, for perhaps the five
hundredth representation of her Elmire, the barricades were as
necessary, the _queue_ as long and as full, as when, fifteen years
ago, I was first told to remark the wonderful power of attraction
possessed by an actress already greatly past the first bloom of youth
and beauty. Were the Parisians as defensible in their ordinary love of
change as they are in this singular proof of fidelity, it would be
well. It is, however, strange witchery.
That the ear should be gratified, and the feelings awakened, by the
skilful intonations of a voice the sweetest perhaps that ever blest a
mortal, is quite intelligible; but that the eye should follow with
such unwearied delight every look and movement of a woman, not only
old--for that does sometimes happen at Paris--but one known to be so
from one end of Europe to the other, is certainly a singular
phenomenon. Yet so it is; and could you see her, you would understand
why, though not how, it is so. There is still a charm, a grace, in
every movement of Mademoiselle Mars, however trifling and however
slight, which instantly captivates the eye, and forbids it to wander
to any other object--even though that object be young and lovely.
Why is it that none of the young heads can learn to turn like hers?
Why can no arms move with the same beautiful and easy elegance? Her
very fingers, even when gloved, seem to aid her expression; and the
quietest and least posture-studying of actresses contrives to make the
most trifling and ordinary movement assist in giving effect to her
part.
I would willingly consent to be dead for a few hours, if I could
meanwhile bring Molière to life, and let him see Mars play one of his
best-loved characters. How delicious would be his pleasure in
beholding the creature of his own fancy thus exquisitely alive before
him; and of marking, moreover, the thrill that makes itself heard
along the closely-packed rows of the parterre, when his wit, conveyed
by this charming conductor, runs round the house like the touch of
electricity! Do you think that the best smile of Louis le Grand could
be worth this?
Few theatrical pieces can, I think, be calculated to give less
pleasure than that of "Charlotte Brown," which followed the
"Tartuffe;" but as the part of Charlotte is played by Mademoiselle
Mars, people will stay to see it. I repented however that I did not
go, for it made me cross and angry.
Such an actress as Mars should not be asked to try a _tour de force_
in order to make an abortive production effective. And what else can
it be called, if her touching pathos and enchanting grace are brought
before the public, to make them endure a platitude that would have
been hissed into oblivion ere it had well seen light without her? It
is hardly fair to expect that a performer should create as well as
personate the chief character of a piece; but Mademoiselle Mars
certainly does nothing less, when she contrives to excite sympathy and
interest for a low-born and low-minded woman, who has managed to make
a great match by telling a great falsehood. Yet "Charlotte Brown" is
worth seeing for the sake of a certain tragic look given by this
wonderful actress at the moment when her falsehood is discovered. It
is no exaggeration to say, that Mrs. Siddons never produced an
expression of greater power.
It is long since I have seen any theatre so crowded.
I remember many years ago hearing what I thought an excellent sermon
from a venerable rector, who happened to have a curate more remarkable
for the conscientious manner in which he performed his duty to the
parish, and the judicious selection of his discourses, than for the
excellence of his original sermons. "It is the duty of a minister,"
said the old man, "to address the congregation which shall assemble to
hear him with the most impressive and most able eloquence that it is
within the compass of his power to use; and far better is it that the
approved wisdom of those who have passed away be read from the pulpit,
than that the weak efforts of an ungifted preacher should fall wearily
and unprofitably on the ears of his congregation. The fact that his
discourse is manuscript, instead of printed, will hardly console them
for the difference."
Do you not think--with all reverence be it spoken--that the same
reasoning might be very usefully addressed to the managers of
theatres, not in France only, but all the world over? If it cost too
much to have a good new piece, would it not be better to have a good
old one?